


Winchester Family Christmas Card 2016

by lizbobjones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Terrible Christmas Sweaters as a plot point, assume knowledge of season 12 up to 12.08 and then pretend most of that episode didn't happen, they're home for Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizbobjones/pseuds/lizbobjones
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Cas isn't even sure he's invited to stay in the Bunker over the holiday. Dean is determined to enjoy Christmas with his newly restored family and to mend bridges with Cas. But first they need to buy the worst Christmas sweaters in the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MittenWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/gifts).



> The only thing you need to know to understand where I was at with this is that I extensively researched bawdy Christmas sweaters and nothing else.
> 
> Huge thanks to Mittensmorgul/Mittenwraith for reading it before I posted to save me from myself <3
> 
> Merry Christmas :D

Christmas Eve, and the Bunker was… well, a mess. The ‘Lucifer is gone and we have our lives back and nothing terrible happened’ party had lasted for several days. No one had felt like tidying up after some of the Winchesters’ hunter friends had left, and then Mary had come by – and she’d _helped_ with the chaos.

Weirdly, discovering that his mom could drink him under the table seemed to have been good for Dean. Or maybe he had been too drunk to angst about this development. Cas had watched him laughing and looking genuinely impressed, their issues forgotten as competitiveness over the drinking games kicked in.

The important thing was that it was nearly Christmas, the Bunker had reached a state of being inevitably and impossibly trashed from the moment Jody had shown up with Donna unexpectedly in tow, the girls stashed safely for Christmas back in Jody’s cabin. By now everyone else had gone home (Jody did not trust Claire and Alex _not_ to have their own wild party after all, if they spent Christmas unattended, and Cas had accidentally not helped with her anxiety about that at all, now he reflected on his comments about the situation to her), leaving the Winchester family mostly alone for their first ever Christmas together.

Except for Cas, sitting awkwardly in the war room, not sure what to do with himself.

Mary was asleep in one of the armchairs in the library, curled up and snoring softly. Sam, who had been in a strange mood for three days, ever since the hunter called Eileen had left after a couple of drinks with an apology about only passing through, had traipsed off to bed an hour ago, muttering about how he’d try and un-glitter the dungeon later in the morning.

Cas hadn’t seen Dean since he excused himself to do dishes around three, after abruptly finding himself alone with Cas when Mary crashed out. He hadn’t come back.

Feeling like he was being avoided settled it.

Cas had thought he might stay and help them clean the Bunker in time for Christmas, but all he could think of as Christmas eve morning arrived, was how the werewolf Garth had dropped by a couple of days earlier in the party. He’d been a little bemused about current events but ready to have fun… But, like Jody and Donna, and many of the old faces and new friends who’d been invited over, he’d excused himself with time to get home to spend Christmas with his family. Garth had told Cas that was what the holiday was all about when he’d asked why he was leaving so soon.

Now Cas understood – he had been welcome to stay and party with all the other hunters, but one by one they’d left to go back to their families or to leave the Winchesters to their holiday – Jody promised to give his love to Claire without asking him to join them – and now Cas was overstaying his welcome here too. It was time for family to be together.

Probably even Rowena and Crowley were off celebrating somewhere together, as terrible and hateful as they may act towards each other.

Cas felt bad about leaving the Bunker for Sam and Dean to tidy up without him, especially as he would probably be the only one not nursing a terrible hangover once the Winchesters were even back on their feet… But he suddenly couldn’t bear staying around to help, only to have to leave later. He wasn’t obligated to do that, he thought; they didn’t _need_ him to clean up their mess.

The sun had risen outside, and he knew then that he was just putting off the inevitable. He had to leave them to it for a few days, and while they were all sleeping or avoiding him seemed like the best time to go; that way he didn’t have to trouble them with awkward goodbyes or explanations that would ruin the “festive cheer”.

It wasn’t even Jesus’s real birthday. He should know – he’d been there.

Well, his old family certainly wouldn’t want to celebrate Christmas with him, he thought, as he headed to the Bunker’s garage. Perhaps he would just drive around and see if there were any humans he could help; to try and be that Christmas angel some people needed…

The garage was quiet and one of the few rooms that didn’t bear scars from the party. Cas had left his truck there, but crossing to the driver side door, he froze on hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, so soon on his heels he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been followed. He shied away behind the truck.

Of course it was Dean who joined him in the garage. Worse luck, he saw Cas immediately, his eyes straying to the truck as soon as he emerged in the room and widening in surprise to find Cas there.

“Hey, what are you doing lurking back here?” Dean asked. He sounded much more cheerful than Cas had expected. Perhaps he was still buzzed.

Cas had no idea how to answer but Dean carried on talking immediately, not noticing Cas could only stare at him with his mouth slightly open. “I thought I’d head out and get a Christmas tree and do some last minute shopping. Get Christmas dinner. I mean, not like we had a chance to ever do this before. I was gonna ask if I could borrow your truck…” He glanced over at the Impala, gleaming sleekly even in the dull lighting of the garage. “Kinda don’t wanna strap a tree to her roof, you know.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Cas replied, not sure how he could say no to that. If Dean wanted him to stick around because his truck was useful (even if Cas suspected he had come up here to check if Cas had left the keys in the truck and borrow it without asking) – well, it was an excuse not to leave Dean’s side just yet. He felt something cave in inside himself. With Dean grinning at him through the window of the truck to Cas on the other side… He felt more reluctant than ever, even if he knew he ought to. Christmas wasn’t until tomorrow, after all.

Cas started the truck while Dean fidgeted in the passenger seat, leaning over to mess with the radio. He was freshly showered, still warm and wafting a cinnamon-y shampoo smell. Cas carefully didn’t look at him and focussed on easing the truck through the entrance tunnel of the secret garage. He thought Dean was going to comment at several points on his driving, but Cas didn’t drive into the wall like Dean clearly thought he was about to, and when they made it out onto the open road Dean relaxed back into his seat. Cas resolved not to give Dean any reason to complain about his driving.

 _He’s just a nervous passenger_ , Cas told himself. It was hard to shake a feeling that had lasted for what seemed like several years, but intensified these last few months, that Dean was irritated with him, for what, Cas didn’t even know any more.

*

It was a cold morning but no fresh snow had fallen for a few days – there were long piles of slush beside the road, but driving was easy with salt on the main roads and they made it to town in at least what Cas thought was a reasonable time, though Dean probably thought everywhere nearby was under an hour’s drive.

He had fiddled with the radio until he’d found a station blasting Christmas music, and managed to catch Cas’s eye at some lights and ask him not to tell Sam; within a minute Dean was humming along and singing occasional snatches of the lyrics where he knew them (and often where he didn’t). Somehow all the classic Christmas music was lodged in Cas’s brain from one movie or another, but though he offered Dean a few corrections on the words, Dean could not get Cas to sing along as much as he tried, even when he messed up the lyrics and made them intentionally dirty. It made Cas laugh to himself, but then his smile had faded as he remembered that this moment would hurt all the more when he left, and he made the rest of the drive feeling quiet, his frown slipping back into place despite Dean’s best efforts to cheer him up.

There was a Christmas market in full swing in the centre of town. Cas slowed the truck to look as they drove past, intrigued by the tents and lights and bustling crowds. To his surprise Dean leaned curiously into his space to watch as well, then said, right by Cas’s ear, “If you want a closer look we can go to the market.” His tone was affectedly neutral but it made Cas shiver anyway, just from the nearness, the feel of his breath so close to his ear, the rumble of his voice.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked. He waited for Dean to lean back into his own space before turning to check how serious he looked about it.

“Yeah, we’re in no rush. Sam might wake up and do all the tidying before we get back… And you’ve never really done Christmas before, have you?”

“Have _you_?”

“I’m fuckin’ festive all the time.”

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean’s flippant smile. Dean had to be trying to push his own desire to do this for the first time onto Cas.

But Cas still wanted to go, so he spared the eye rolling and stopped the truck at the first chance to pull over, and they ambled back towards the Christmas market.

Before they even reached it, Cas had identified a thousand smells and hundreds of conversations; the market was nearly overwhelming, and he did his best to tune most of it out. It was easier to focus on Dean walking at his side – to look where he did and stop to examine whatever Dean chose to point out on the stalls of ornate Christmas decorations and hand-crafted present ideas. Dean wanted to stop at almost every stall, especially the ones giving out samples of mulled wines and ciders from vats steaming in the cold air. Less so at the ones selling winter vegetables.

They passed stalls selling artisanal Christmas variations of expensive cheeses and fruitcakes, luxury goods that were far out of the price range of those whose income was all mail fraud and gambling and hustling pool… Or on the other hand tables of cheap knock off goods like watches and handbags and suspiciously unofficial pop culture merchandise that they agreed without comment were not the sort of things either of them saw any point in owning.

Deep in the maze was a tent hung with many railings of gaudy Christmas sweaters, each one more ridiculous than the last. Display ones at the front flashed with LED lights from designs of knitted trees, strings of Christmas lights, or the reindeer with the huge red nose from the carol. Others boasted presumably bawdy slogans. Cas stopped and tipped his head to read the one which said “PULL MY CRACKER” with an arrow pointing to the bottom hem, while Dean burst into laughter at a red and white sweater with a simple design of silhouettes of reindeers in the snow, mid-copulation.

“These aren’t family appropriate,” Cas said, and set Dean off again, laughing until he doubled over.

“Oh, no, I have gotta get some of these for all the family,” Dean decided out loud, and stepped under the awning to browse the rails in case there were more gems. “Cas, look, they even have one with a moose on… Help me pick one out for Mom?” He was already searching for the XL moose sweater.

Cas didn’t know how else to get out of this situation except to join Dean in searching the rails. Despite his reservations about engaging in this activity he found himself quite amused by the sheer variety and innovation on display. Humans seemed to excel at knitting silly designs. He was really fond of the attempt to knit a flurry of giant snowflakes in silver wool onto a dark blue background. They were hardly realistic, but the spirit of trying to capture geometric shapes they couldn’t even see with the naked eye in such a terrible medium as large v-shaped stitches made him smile.

“What about this for Mom?” Dean asked, holding up a sweater with a hideous rendition of a pug in antlers on the front.

“That is an atrocious sweater,” Cas informed him.

“What do you know about fashion?” Dean shot back.

Now Cas did roll his eyes – Dean seemed to remember the same thing and averted his eyes, laughing, and put the sweater back. Cas wondered if he’d kept the leather jacket.

He carried on searching through the sweaters, driven to find the one Dean would approve for giving to Mary. Dean ummed sceptically about a design with an elf from the neck down, and spluttered about the use of “Ho” on another until Cas spared him having to make the explanation and just put it back. They had a long argument about the range of “Festive AF” sweaters, and finally Cas suggested that if Dean felt so weird about giving her rude knitwear, to find her one of the silliest ones there, and so it was decided that she’d have Santa Paws the kitten sweater. Dean groaned that Cas’s choice was going to haunt him, but threw the sweater over his arm, along with the moose with the flashing Christmas lights tangled in its antlers, and his own choice of the copulating reindeer; a deceptively tasteful, simple design.

Cas turned to head back out of the tent to find the woman running the stall in order to make the transaction, pulling out his, or, technically Jimmy’s, wallet. After his recent… business partnership… the spare cash he had was what was left of the money Crowley had thrown his way for gas, bribes and other things Crowley had insinuated he could purchase with it that might “get the stick out of his arse”. Cas felt that since Crowley hadn’t asked for the expenses money back, he’d earned it just for making it through the whole hunt for Lucifer without pushing Crowley out of a moving vehicle.

Thinking about his unwanted associate brought back the thoughts of leaving to find Lucifer alone because of the same reasons Cas now felt it was wrong to spend Christmas with the Winchesters… It hit him with a sudden sadness that the fun moment was over; the feeling of being on the outside looking in, of helping Dean get ready for a Christmas he wasn’t a part of, and it overwhelmed him for a moment –

“Cas?”

He stopped and turned to see Dean rooted to the spot, watching him with his expression troubled.

“We haven’t picked a sweater for you yet. Are you okay?” He gestured at one on a mannequin that read “Merry Christmas Angel” with a simple outline of a cone shaped blob with wings and a halo. “This isn’t offensive, is it?”

Cas rolled his eyes, trying not to let his confused gratitude show. “It doesn’t even have a harp.”

Dean burst out laughing again, though Cas felt he stopped too soon, and looked a bit too closely at Cas’s reaction. He didn’t ask again if Cas was really, truly, all right, but turned back to the racks. “We must’ve looked at every sweater here already… Are there any you like?”

“Yes, the snowflakes,” Cas replied at once, not wanting to drag this out into a debate in case Dean changed his mind.

He still felt a moment of panic as Dean frowned. “Are you sure? They’re kind of… boring.”

“I like it,” Cas said defensively, pulling the dark blue one off the rack.

Dean held up his hands; “Sure, if that’s the one you want, I’ll get it for you. Probably better than having to see some flashing monstrosity every time I look your way all Christmas anyway.”

Cas had been shaping up a snarky comment about better boring than – well, he was looking at a knitted design of Santa Claus apparently defecating down a chimney so if there were even words to explain it he lost them – he couldn’t stop himself from gawping at Dean now.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “You _were_ planning to be here for Christmas?”

“I – I wasn’t sure…”

Dean snatched the sweater from Cas’s hands and stomped off to pay for the whole terrible collection, shaking his head. Cas watched him from between the rails of awful sweaters, still stunned and uncertain of if he’d just messed up or if he was even allowed to feel relieved about being invited… Or if he had ruined it by upsetting Dean. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Dean would _assume_ he was supposed to be there but if that was why he hadn’t said anything to Cas…

Cas realised Dean had paid and was heading off back into the scrum of Christmas shoppers without a glance back, and hurried after him.

Dean led the way through the rest of the market stalls, not really looking closely at them or allowing Cas to browse before he moved on, and he had stopped laughing easily. Cas watched him buy a few small things for the Christmas dinner he grudgingly admitted to planning in apparently great depth. Cas ran his eyes over nearby stalls while he waited, wondering if he should buy Dean a Christmas present. It seemed the wrong time to do it, that he would be trying to buy back favour.

*

They didn’t really speak properly until they were back in the truck. Dean turned up the heater on full blast and groaned appreciatively. Cas wondered if he had just been too cold to talk before then, when he turned to him, with his usual wariness about having to dive into the big conversations.

“Cas… You know you are always are welcome to stay with us, right?”

“I know,” Cas replied automatically.

“Really? Because you sure sounded surprised earlier.” And there was the bitterness Cas had expected from the moment Dean had stomped off back at the sweater tent.

“Christmas – it’s just… I understand the celebration is supposed to be for family. I assumed with Mary back…”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ family too.”

“I _know_ , you’ve told me before.” He wished he didn’t sound so frustrated, or like he had such a hard time believing it.

Dean rubbed his eyes before he spoke, pausing to think of the right words, perhaps. “If you think we’d kick you out into the cold because we have our mom back… It’s not a competition.”

“I know.”

“You’re staying for Christmas.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind me being there.”

“Cas…” Dean hesitated for a long moment. “I _want_ to have you there.”

Cas glanced over at Dean, and caught him looking away out the window, his ears red either from the sudden change to the warmth of the truck or from that admission.

Not sure what else to say that wouldn’t be the sort of thing Dean immediately would shut down because it failed some test of what was too emotionally revealing for him, Cas pulled the truck out of its space and continued the drive to the store.

Even from the parking lot they could tell it was even more packed with Christmas shoppers than the market had been. While Dean went to collect a shopping cart, Cas watched people struggling to load their cars with more bags than they could carry, or heading toward the store with determination as if marching into battle.

Dean grimaced at the competition when he returned, leaning on the handle of the shopping cart to power it towards the store with the least expended energy. “We shouldn’t have left this until the last minute, huh? I think we’re going to have to fight for the last turkey. Come on.”

The interior of the supermarket washed over them with noise and bright fluorescent lights. All the hundreds of humans packed in around them were focused on getting their shopping done. Dozens of competitive arguments all over sought-after items, that Christmas apparently couldn’t take place without, filled the air; the buzz of overlapping voices mixed with the blare of carols over the shop’s speakers and the beeping of the tills. Everyone was desperate to get home to be with their waiting families – a single-minded flow of intent from them powering every action, that made the air almost electric. It was an exciting feeling, for Cas knowing that he was a part of it. He felt like he was still watching from afar, still scared to let it be real. But as annoyed as Dean had been, he had been determined to invite Cas for Christmas, to make him a part of it… Cas tried to put out of mind the noise of the supermarket, and to follow Dean.

He caught up to him on the edge of what looked like it was about to be a fight, by a long counter at the back of the shop signposting itself as the fresh meat section by way of the wall of rotisserie chickens slowly turning in a warm light. Dean turned despairingly to Cas. “Fuck, they’re out of turkeys.” A woman in a hairnet was just putting a sign down on top of the long refrigerator announcing as much.

Cas watched a woman in a turtleneck sweater who reeked of victory escaping the scrum with a huge bird on top of her shopping cart; the eyes of the other last-minute Christmas shoppers following her with loathing.

“I could ambush her and make her forget she ever got the last turkey,” Cas suggested, narrowing his eyes after her as well.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said, though he looked like he really didn’t want to have to take the moral high ground here. Amusement crossed his face, though, after a moment. “Thanks for offering to fight a soccer mom for the sake of our Christmas dinner. We haven’t gone up against many more terrifying things…”

Cas shook his head, startled by how intensely he’d considered robbing the woman of her bird for the sake of Dean. “This is a barbaric holiday.”

“Christmas is a scam,” Dean agreed. “It’s okay, though, Cas. They have loads of other stuff left. I don’t think I’ve had a roast ham since –”

“What?”

“Never mind, I can definitely cook it better this time. I was sick for a week after eating that ham.” With that cryptic comment he nudged the cart towards Cas to keep an eye on, before diving into the crowds by the butcher’s counter.

Cas watched the way he charmed the woman behind the counter into giving him what he wanted; a huge ham, that even the Bunker’s giant oven might struggle with. Cas knew he was flirting strictly for business, not pleasure, but he still felt an uncomfortable stir of annoyance at that, and when Dean returned and deposited the ham in the cart, Cas pushed it away at once, determined to put the meat counter behind them. “Where next?”

They drifted up and down the crowded aisles for a while without much conversation except for what they needed to get the shopping done. They seemed to have barely gone halfway around the store but the cart was filling up fast, as Dean stocked up on supplies and bought everything they’d need for Christmas from scratch, because, as he said, the Bunker seemed to only be stocked with cornflakes and canned goods. He seemed almost wistful about buying a couple of loaves of fresh bread, like he couldn’t quite believe they were dedicating to spending several days in one place and could have an abundance of perishable foods. Several times he made them double back when he checked his phone for a list he’d found online of all the things you needed for Christmas. Cas was familiar only with the layout of tiny gas station stores (those he knew like the back of his hand – though, yes, having a back of a hand to know was also relatively new and strange to him) but it occurred to him that Dean had lived on the road so long that big supermarkets were a novelty to him as well. Although he mostly complained about the music and the crowds of people.

It wasn’t until they were walking up the aisle full of many sauces and condiments in jars that Dean slowed down from his one-track shopping rush, and paused, staring at jars of salsa that Cas knew weren’t even on his list. It was slightly quieter here – no essential Christmas items seemed to be housed along here.

“Cas… You really didn’t think we’d invite you for Christmas? I mean… You were already in the Bunker with us, I thought – I – I’m not mad at you for trying to leave, but… I wanna understand.”

Cas sighed, and added a jar of salsa to the cart just because, and considered setting off for the next aisle, hoping it would be more hectic and deter Dean from talking. But he looked up and saw Dean was looking at him with his expression more open than Cas felt like he had seen in years.

“So much has happened to us over the years. I haven’t had a chance to settle down with you. Though I want to. When was the last time we were free to choose what we wanted?”

Dean shrugged, with the expression of someone who had just kicked a hornet’s nest but was trying not to run screaming despite that. Cas supposed he might as well just say what Dean didn’t want to hear but had to know – perhaps once it was said, Cas would feel like he knew what Dean was thinking when it came to letting Cas into their home.

“I have been waiting for you to ask me to leave or for something to take you away from me every time. When I stayed in the Bunker to recover after Rowena cursed me, I was almost _happy_ that we argued and I left for a while, because living there with you – every day I thought it would be when you finally kicked me out. I’m _scared_ to stay with you, because I don’t trust that it won’t end badly, and I’m waiting to find out how. I don’t know how to belong there.”

Dean nodded. Swallowed hard. Glanced away at the shelves while he ran a hand over his face. “Do you want some more salsa?”

“… yes.”

Dean knocked three more jars into the cart and tugged on the front of it to get Cas moving again. “We should get crackers. And popcorn so we can watch movies. There’s a new Star Wars film out… Maybe we should watch all the rest together.”

“I already know what happens in them all.”

“It’s not the same as _watching_ it,” Dean said, and his voice was starting to sound a bit less hoarse. Cas supposed that was it for the serious conversation. He hadn’t known what Dean could say that would make him feel better. It was somehow more reassuring to know that Dean didn’t think it could be easily patched over with words.

“I’m not opposed to watching them… with you.”

Dean forced a smile. “Well, there’s a lot of movies to watch and we have to do Christmas stuff tomorrow, so you’re going to have to stay at least until the day after to watch them all. With me.”

*

It was getting dark by the time they were back on the road. Cas had never felt more relieved to be heading back to the Bunker – not even after any battle or in times that he had been rescued. It was, he realised after some reflection, the feeling of knowing that he was returning home.

“Tree – we need a fucking tree!” Dean burst out, breaking the companionable silence they’d been in since they finished loading up the groceries and retreated to the warmth of the truck as fresh flakes of snow began to fall from the sky.

Cas managed to resist the sudden panic and resulting need to slam his foot on the brake. This wasn’t a life or death problem despite the sound of Dean’s voice cracking around the words in alarm. “We’ve only been driving ten minutes, and we saw several places selling them on the side of the road on the way up here,” Cas reminded him, risking a glance away from the road to check on Dean. He looked frantic, which worried Cas because obtaining a festive conifer could not seriously be that important to him. It had to be something else.

“Yeah, but it’s nearly four on Christmas eve… Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”

“There will be an opportunity. And if there isn’t, we can use the decorations you bought around the Bunker. It won’t be for nothing.”

Dean subsided back into the seat, still looking troubled but at least no longer openly panicking. He let a minute of driving pass before he spoke. “I just want it to be a proper Christmas.”

“It will be.”

“Yeah, but… With all of us together. The way it’s supposed to be. Even forgetting Mom – don’t tell her I said that – when have we ever had nothing terrible affecting at least one of us? Our lives _suck_. The best Christmas of my life was the year before I went to Hell, and Sam made a tree decorated with fucking air fresheners. How messed up is that?”

Cas laughed, rather sadly. He didn’t think he’d had an opportunity at all to mark the holiday passing – not in a way that actually mattered to him. “I remember that Daphne and Emmanuel celebrated it together.”

“Who – wait, your _wife_?”

“We weren’t – I never – I don’t think it counts when you aren’t even yourself.”

Dean snorted. “We’ve all been there.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Wait, you mean you and Daphne –”

“Celebrated Christmas. What did you think I was talking about?”

Dean looked away out of the window, and Cas could sense his embarrassment. Oh. Cas played back the last few moments of Dean’s sudden affected disinterest while really intently asking that question he couldn’t quite manage to finish asking.

“Oh, hey, stop – there’s a guy selling trees!” Dean brought an abrupt end to the awkward conversation and Cas’s train of thought.

The tree seller at the side of the road had their own truck and what was clearly the tail end of their tree stock leaning against it, by the large hand-painted sign advertising their roadside business. There were three trees left, and though Cas was no expert, he thought they definitely looked thinner and more bedraggled than any image of a Christmas tree in full festive decoration that he had stored in his memory. He also spared a moment to resent Metatron for adding _so many_ terrible Christmas movies to his brain.

The trees weren’t going anywhere fast, at least, with their seller hunched up by the sign, watching them from under a bundle of coat and scarf and hat against the cold. Dean wasn’t rushing to get out of the truck, rooting around in the shopping bags at his feet from the trip to the market.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked.

“It’s freezing out there, if you hadn’t noticed all the snow. We’re going to have to wear the Christmas sweaters.” He announced it in a voice familiar from all the times he’d had to announce their best plan in some huge fight was a suicide mission.

“I don’t feel the cold,” Cas said, bemused, as Dean shoved his sweater into his arms and continued rustling through the bag for his own.

“Well, I’m not going to go talk to anyone when I’m wearing a fudging gay reindeer orgy sweater and you’re still dressed like you’ve worked late at the office. C’mon, solidarity, man. I’ve been freezing my ass off all day and I can’t take it anymore. If we’re going to stand there and make small talk about trees with the tree guy I’d rather be warm.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Of course Dean had buyer’s regret about that sweater. “Fine, but my sweater isn’t even that ridiculous.”

“I don’t care, _all_ these sweaters are stupid and you should only wear them one day a year, if you _have_ to wear them. But it’s Christmas and we’re doing it right, so put it on.”

Cas shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, and pulled the sweater on over his shirt and tie, before adding the other layers back. Dean had yanked the sweater on over his shirts much faster than Cas had dressed, and when Cas turned, he saw Dean inspecting him critically. “Maybe I should give you Mom’s sweater for now. It’s so much worse…” He smoothed a hand down over where his open jacket clearly displayed the most graphic parts of the design. The reindeers may have only been in silhouette, white on red, but what they were engaged in doing was… unsubtle.

“It wouldn’t fit.”

Dean looked between them again, inspecting both sweaters. “We look like –”

“Like what?”

“Never mind, come on.” Dean huffed a sigh and finally opened the door – the heat whooshed out of the truck as a flurry of snow rushed in.

Cas followed him across the lot to the tree seller.

“I was about to close up shop when I saw you two pull up,” the man said, muffled from under the scarf that was pulled up over his nose. “But there’s _always_ someone who leaves it to the last minute…” Cas couldn’t tell if he was accusing them or pleased about his own business sense.

“We’ve been too busy to get ready for Christmas,” Dean said, laughing it off like he wasn’t referring to months of chasing after Lucifer.

“I had to work late at the office,” Cas contributed.

Dean glanced at him and grinned, then nodded towards the trees. “I’ll just, uh, pick one out then,” he said, trying to sound cheerful about the slim pickings, still shifting foot to foot in the cold, with his hands buried in his pockets.

The “tree guy” nodded and gestured pointlessly at them, since Dean had already turned to give them a closer look.

“So you’ve been out doing all your Christmas shopping today then?” the man asked, clearly glad to have some conversation after spending the day mostly alone at the side of the road watching the sparse Nebraska traffic.

“Yes, we bought a lot of decorations for our _home_.”

“Oh, just moved in?” His eyes (all that was visible of him really) went back and forth between Dean and Cas.

Cas was almost beginning to enjoy the small talk, something he usually felt was a pointless exercise. There was something fun about telling their lives but not _quite_ how they’d happened. “This is our first Christmas together,” Cas told him; Dean, who had been sizing up the trees and trying to project an air of being knowledgeable about them, froze.

“Oh, okay then,” the man said, eyes now doing a double take from one Christmas sweater to the other, and the “tree guy” apparently came to some sort of realisation.

After that Dean was quick to pick a tree, going for the tallest because “Uh, we have a really high front entrance…” which was better than telling the man how they were planning to put it in the war room of their “bat cave”.

Dean seemed almost hostile as he pointed it out – “Well take this one. If that’s okay with you.”

The man looked like he had no idea why it wouldn’t be; Cas could feel mostly relief coming from him that his would be the last tree he sold, his decision to return home to his family a feeling Cas could read easily after feeling it on almost everyone they had passed today… And his own warm feeling of the same.

Dean started to count out screwed up bills to pay for the tree while Cas was still lost in thought – it took him a moment to realise. “Dean, let me pay. You’ve bought everything else today.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. Christmas is on me this year. You’re doing all the driving.”

“I want to be a part of it,” Cas insisted. Not just a guest at the Bunker – _their_ Christmas.

That was clearly enough to remind Dean of their conversation in the store. “O-okay. Sure. Uh, I guess pay the guy then. I’ll get the tree in the truck.”

Cas nodded, pulling out his wallet. Dean went to heft the tree towards the truck, bending over to pick it up from the least awkward angle between all the branches. Cas watched him struggling with it, and wondered if he should help, but Dean managed it and Cas watched him haul it off to the truck. It wasn’t until the “tree guy” cleared his throat that Cas realised that he had paused with the wallet half open, losing the thread of that action when Dean bent over.

He pulled out his money and handed it over mechanically, still in a daze induced by the tightness of Dean’s jeans.

“Happy holidays,” the tree seller bid him.

“You too,” Cas said automatically.

“And congratulations. I hope you have a good first Christmas together.”

“Oh –” Cas suddenly realised the scenario that Dean had been stressing about when he realised they were alone together in matching sweaters… And that the tree seller had thought it too. “We’re not… Conjugally joined.”

The man looked about as apologetic as he could with two square inches of his face uncovered. “Right – uh.”

“Happy holidays,” Cas parroted to him.

He half-jogged back to the truck.

Dean had started the engine to get the heater going, and hastily looked up from contemplating the design on his sweater upside down. “Something chasing you?”

“It’s cold.”

“… Yeah.”

*

They went from the static-y radio Christmas music to scratchy vinyl carols echoing through the Bunker from the ancient record player in the library.

Sam was mopping the war room, which looked about the same as it ever did, all sign of the party tidied away. He waved to them as they came down the stairs laden with shopping bags (Cas carrying almost all of them but Dean cradling the ham like it was his only child).

“Don’t complain about the music, dude. Mom insisted we listen to it when she discovered the Men of Letters’ vinyl collection.”

Cas turned to scowl at Dean, who suddenly could not meet his eye at all, but kept his eyes on Sam.

(Sam who was watching Cas over Dean’s shoulder with narrowed eyes.)

Dean cleared his throat. “Good timing with finishing the cleaning. We’ve got a Christmas tree in Cas’s truck out front. You think it would be easier to get it down all these stairs, or are we gonna hafta carry it all the way through the Bunker from the garage?”

Sam looked appropriately alarmed at that question, and Dean laughed as they headed past him to drop off all the food in the kitchen.

It took all four of them, with Cas doing all the lifting, to manoeuvre the tree into place in the corner of the war room, under Mary’s commanding direction. She had immediately swapped her outer layers for Santa Paws, but it took that plus the entire journey of the tree shedding needles across the Bunker for Sam to give in and agree to wear the moose.

Taking a breather with the big task done, Dean immediately pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Sam.

“Dean… What are you doing with that?” Sam asked in his most careful voice that Cas recognised as the one right before shit “went down”.

Dean smiled innocently at him. “Sendin’ it to Crowley…”

Sam set after him with an enraged roar, and Dean legged it from the room.

Cas turned to Mary, who had watched the exchange with misty eyes. “We should start decorating the tree. Apparently it’s important to have this task accomplished before Christmas day.”

“Right, right.” She cleared her throat. “Um, Castiel, did we put the tree near any power sockets?”

Sam and Dean eventually rejoined them, Dean over-acting a sulk and phone-less. They got to work sorting the huge amount of decorations that Dean had bought, working out where to put them all.

Mary went up the stairs to twist tinsel around the railings of the balcony. As the tallest, Sam went around the edge of the room, balancing on rickety spinning chairs or standing on the ancient computers to pin streamers around the room. Cas had no idea how Dean had subliminally delegated this by making them decide what to do, but it was the only explanation that Dean had engineered it. Because suddenly Cas’s world narrowed down completely to Dean as they worked on the tree together – Dean leaning around him to reach a branch; Dean resting a hand on his shoulder or elbow as he stretched to wrap lights around the higher reaches of the tree; their hands meeting as their trips back to the box of baubles on the table were suspiciously mistimed to coincide…

Dean had no concept of the sensible strategy that would have been, in Cas’s opinion, to split the sides of the tree between them. Dean trailed Cas closely all around the tree, as if he couldn’t bear to be more than a foot from his side at any moment, working at his side, breathing in his space.

When Cas knelt to add baubles around the lower reaches of the tree, Dean’s hand found his shoulder and didn’t let up until Cas shifted to get back to his feet. For a moment they were frozen standing with their faces a matter of inches away, and Cas found that he was almost desperate to memorise Dean’s face from this close, unable to move away. Dean didn’t step back immediately either, until the sound of Sam stumbling in the corner drew his attention and he turned, with something like the feeling of a spring snapping between them.

“Hey, don’t die, Sammy. Think of Billie’s face if she has to come get you for falling off a fuckin’ chair.”

Sam’s horrified expression was answer enough.

“We’re nearly done, at least,” Cas contributed, feeling like he’d only just appeared in the room, and was taking stock of it all with fresh eyes.

“Yeah, with this room,” Dean said. Now that they’d drawn Sam and Mary’s attention he shuffled further away from Cas to mess with the boxes of decorations on the table without picking any up. “We’ve gotta cheer up the library too.”

“Oh god,” Sam said.

Cas cast his eyes up at the tree; it looked nearly done, with Dean now heading back with some tinsel strands for the finishing touches. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Mary, most of the way down the spiral stairs with her task, groaned in agreement. “Thank you, Castiel.”

Cas nodded to her in solidarity, and headed off to the kitchen.

*

The coffee machine had barely started when Cas found himself no longer alone in the kitchen. Dean wandered in, grinning almost apologetically.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Cas just looked at him until Dean stopped pretending that he was defending that line.

“You finished the tree?”

“Bit of a rush job. I, uh, thought you might want a hand carrying the coffee back.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean moved over to lean on the edge of the table; Cas remained stood against the shelves the coffee machine lived on, with his arms folded. It was an appropriate amount of space – if Sam or Mary wandered in, they wouldn’t think –

Think what, exactly?

He looked up from his shoes at the same time Dean looked away from him to examine his own boots.

“Cas… I didn’t just come to help with the coffee.”

“That much was obvious. What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing bad… Jeeze, we’ve been talking about feelings all day. I’m going to break out in hives from this.”

“We don’t have to – I feel…” he had to stop and search for the words, so unused to expressing this. “Comfortable. At home. I’m having a lot of fun tonight. I’ve come to the understanding that Christmas is a time to focus on what makes you happy, and… I am. Because I’m here with you.”

Dean looked up, grinning dopily. Cas would have thought he was drunk but he had been with Dean all day and knew he wasn’t.

“Me too. I can’t believe this is happening. I keep thinking you’re going to leave, but…” Dean’s smile slipped, and he looked away again. “Well, I probably deserved it. It was my fault, and all this time, thinking you left because…” He stopped, and in the silence Cas left him, the coffee machine gurgled loudly.

Cas had no idea if he should get into a discussion about blame and how at this point in their lives with so many mistakes in their past… Then Dean breathed out hard. Cas realised he wasn’t looking at his boots – he was still staring at the design on his sweater.

“Cas, um, there’s a lot we never, ever talk about. As a rule. Rule number one. Don’t talk about this…”

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean’s rambling. “You know, you were right. The man selling trees congratulated me, on the assumption that we were recently married.”

Dean jerked his head up and stared at Cas with his mouth slowly falling open.

“I told him we weren’t, of course.”

“Right. Of course.”

Behind them the coffee machine finally finished filling the pot up, and spluttered to a stop.

“Oh, coffee’s done,” Dean said, lurching up from the table as Cas also turned to deal with a mundane task that offered a welcome relief from dealing with this conversation. All at once they were right in each other’s space, and Dean’s sharp inhale at finding he’d stumbled right into it dragged Cas over the edge.

They _hadn’t_ talked about it. Not once in the entire time they’d known each other. But they knew. They both knew and they kept on knowing. Every harsh truth, dragged out in fights and when they were turned against each other but couldn’t – never went that far. Or in the fleeting quiet moments or the few gentle touches they’re shared instead. The hugs that Cas was still able to individually count and hold each in his memory (though he might memorise a thousand if he had the chance). When they made each other laugh. Most recently, when they drove each other crazy and snapped and snarked and seethed in helpless jealousy and frustration.

He grabbed Dean with two handfuls of the awful Christmas sweater, and shoved him back against the side counter with the coffee machine, with enough force all the plates and bowls in it jangled in alarm. Cas didn’t bother to check he hadn’t smashed the rest of the mug set – he was lost in Dean’s breathless reaction, the way his hand shook as – in complete opposition to the way Cas had flung himself at Dean – he moved his arm as slowly as the continental drift Cas had watched form the present world, and touched his palm to Cas’s cheek, wonderingly.

He guided Cas in until their lips met, and after the violent push that got them there, the hesitant brush of his warm mouth over Cas’s was dizzyingly tantalising, and demanded the attention of their second kiss, which wasn’t good enough when Dean pulled back to breathe for a moment, and Cas had to chase him for the third, deeper than the last again.

Finally Dean pushed Cas away, not unkindly. “It… it really doesn’t take this long to make coffee. Um. Let’s go finish decorating the library. Get pizza. Um. Fix your hair.”

“In that order?”

Dean rolled his eyes and busied himself with pouring coffees, ears red and smile trying to force its way past his determined frown.

*

The library was easier to decorate, or Cas moved through the motions of Dean’s relentlessly festive plans for it in a dream.

He had had no hope just that morning of Dean ever expressing what Cas had once been certain was attraction, back when it had hardly mattered to him whether Dean felt that way or not. The passing years, almost in direct opposition to his growing realisation of his own feelings, had worn at his certainty the same way great stone monuments built to survive to some human concept of forever all surely eroded and crumbled – or were violently knocked down.

But it was hope, too, that had remained that Dean still wanted him, and had just become increasingly, frustratingly good at hiding it, even from himself. Tiny moments where he cracked in front of Cas and that old light shone out. Recently, Cas hadn’t known any other way but to torment himself with that hope while simultaneously reminding himself that he didn’t deserve it.

And now he knew the feeling of Dean’s hot, urgent breaths against his mouth, the softness of his lips and the roughness of his hands cupping his face. The instant spike of yearning of Dean tugging hungrily at Cas’s tie, like he could somehow pull them even closer when they were already joined at the mouth, their bodies pressed together. The heat in his eyes when Dean had stepped back and eyed him up approvingly of how rumpled and debauched he’d made Cas look in such a short time… Before fixing his tie and tucking it back into Cas’s Christmas sweater and condemning him to the most frustrating evening Cas had ever endured. Everything he wanted was finally in reach but annoyingly far across the room holding a chair for his mom to stand on while she hung decorations from the tops of the shelves…

“Castiel?”

Or she was standing right next to him. He shook himself out of the stupor of thought to find he’d been idly adjusting the position of a sprig of fake holly by one of the sword displays for however long. Dean was talking to Sam off in the war room and yet somehow Cas knew he had half an eye on him.

“Are you all right?” Mary asked, sympathetically to whatever plight she assumed Cas was in.

“Yes…” He caught her giving him the “bullshit” look. “I suppose it is possible to be tired without needing to sleep. We have been dealing with Lucifer a long time. Dean may be manic and ready to celebrate, but I’m just glad it’s over.”

She nodded. “This evening will be quieter, I’ll make sure Dean knows that.” Her eyes drifted to her sons’ argument – something about pizza toppings – as well.

“How about you?” Cas asked, guilty that she’d come to check on him without him checking on her in return.

“Oh, I was just never really one for Christmas…”

Cas remembered her father well enough to guess how fun Christmas might have been for her, but that didn’t seem to explain her own wistful mood, and so he returned the look of a sceptical raised eyebrow she’d just sent his way.

She sighed and spread her hands. “Look, the only good Christmases I ever had were when I was out of this whole life, with John. I’m doing better. I am. I’m happy to be here getting a chance to celebrate it with my boys that the world would have denied me… But they don’t talk about him, and Dean’s acting like _none_ of us have had a chance to do this before. I know their upbringing was rough, and that they might not ever tell me everything, every terrible Christmas for all those years I was dead… And that’s their right. I wasn’t there. But when I think that John _was_ … It makes me uneasy. Their excitement to have a tree in a place they call home…”

Cas didn’t know what to say about any of that, but he thought of Dean making him feel at home with actions as much as words all day. He had to stop wishing this part of the evening to be over so he could steal Dean away.

“Maybe you can ask them about it when the festivities are over. Find a story they’re willing to share. I know this is supposed to be a time of peace…”

“Yes. I know. No marching up to them and asking the hard questions when they just want to drink eggnog and watch some Christmas movie that’s playing on a loop on TV apparently, and eat pizza.”

“It’s _A Christmas Story_ ,” Cas said helpfully, thinking that she’d forgotten the name. “Directed by Bob Clark, originally released in 1983 –”

“How do you know this stuff?”

Cas grimaced.

“Wait – ’83?”

“Uh –”

Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Let’s just go see if Dean and Sam have decided what pizza to get.”

*

They settled down to watch on Sam’s TV. Dean waited for Mary to pick the armchair they’d dragged in and then with the bed clear, claimed it for Cas and himself while Sam was stuck sprawled in his desk chair because he’d made himself late getting popcorn as well.

What was staged as brotherly rivalry between them ruined Cas’s experience of actually getting to watch this movie, because as the victor of the bed space, Dean settled into a comfortable slouch to watch the movie, draping his arm along the headboard so that his hand was brushing Cas’s shoulder despite the respectful distance Cas had put between them when he sat down. That distance became a yawning chasm of the desire to shuffle closer and sit as pressed up to Dean as he could… Every time Dean moved or deliberately traced his thumb up and down Cas’s arm, which he was doing constantly, Cas was reminded painfully of how close they were but how much closer they _could_ be. He only hoped Dean was suffering as much as he was about it.

He had never found himself losing courage so dramatically as sitting there, perfectly still and probably what looked robotically straight, trying to think of a way to return the gesture without drawing attention… That is, he _had_ Sam’s attention because he’d dropped popcorn on the bed early on in the movie when Dean first casually stroked his arm, and he was sure any further movements from him would draw Sam’s wrath about befouling his living space, even if Cas had only meant to put a hand on Dean’s leg or some other small thing… Cas played more scenarios like this through his mind than there were scenes in the movie.

He did sort of know what it was about, after all. It was a surreal thought to think of Metatron sitting down to watch it too.

That was not the sort of thought he wanted to entertain when it seemed like their evening was drawing to a close and the unfinished moment with Dean was tearing through his once infinite patience and resolve.

But after the movie they all sat where they were and talked, as the Winchesters hit a second wind to eat what was left of the pizza. Since Sam’s room was near the kitchen, Dean kept wandering off to make all the necessary preparations for the cooking the next day, and Cas couldn’t trail him back and forth, so he stayed where he was. He found himself being knowingly used as a small talk buffer between Sam and Mary, who wouldn’t let him sit in terrified, excited silence, but kept glancing his way and drawing him into their conversation, while his thoughts drifted after Dean.

He fought the desire to go join him until Mary had excused herself to get an eggnog top up and didn’t come back. It took Sam and Cas thirty minutes of a genuinely absorbing conversation about what humans knew about the inaccuracies in Christmas lore to notice (since they were in Sam’s room, books were produced). When Cas commented on her absence, they sneaked to the kitchen, hearing the sound of voices coming from it, and watched Mary and Dean trying not to be wildly frustrated with how bad she was at chopping vegetables that Dean also had no idea how to cook except for what his phone told him… He seemed to be making better progress with preparing the ham, but his tipsy, inexperienced kitchen assistant made for interesting watching.

“We should help them,” Cas muttered.

“Give them this,” Sam said. Paused. “If I go in there he’s only going to make me wash dishes.”

“You don’t strike me as a coward, Sam.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Later the party drifted from the kitchen back to admiring the tree. It wasn’t late by anyone’s standards but everyone (apart from Cas) was still dealing with the after effect of the party, and by now discussion was muted.

Dean had placed himself carefully across the table from Cas, but in the dimmed lights of just the table and the tree Cas found himself staring at Dean anyway. It seemed like lines had dropped from his face and the default expression of a smile instead of a frown had added a softness to him that Cas had never seen before. He looked tired in a regular way, after a long day, not the bone deep weariness Cas knew him to carry. It was entrancing to watch, never mind the way the lights caught his eyes and made them glitter with reflections like stars.

Mary was the first to wear out – Sam had said she’d slept until noon. She had told Cas that she’d not been sleeping well alone on the road. Now, though, she downed her eggnog and stood up to yawn. “See you in the morning. Merry Christmas, boys, Castiel.”

They hugged her goodnight, and Sam rolled his shoulders too. “I’m heading off too – need to shake all the popcorn out of my bed. Also, uh, we’re not gonna need the dungeon tomorrow, right?”

“What sort of Christmas do you _think_ we’re having?”

“Well, it’s still full of glitter.” Sam shuddered. “Looks like a clown exploded in there.”

“I don’t think –” Cas started.

“Oh, he’s the expert,” Dean cut in.

Sam scowled briefly, but then clearly shoved down some thought and his smile returned. “Thanks for doing all this for Christmas,” he said in what was now his slightly too earnest, too much eggnog voice that threatened tears and heavy back-slapping (and Cas didn’t think he was imagining Dean infinitesimally edging behind him for protection, which gave Cas the warmest, possessive feeling).

“It’s okay, I owe you one.”

Sam launched himself at Dean and gave him a huge hug with the threatened thumps to his back. When he stepped away he looked at Cas, who stood his ground and jutted out his chin confrontationally, ready for the assault. Sam glanced back at Dean, then to Cas, and back to Dean again. “… Merry Christmas,” he offered, and looked at Cas again, his expression uncertain. He abruptly turned and headed towards bed, his smile growing in amusement as he turned away.

Dean leaned around to watch him go, looking baffled. “What –”

“I think he knows.”

“How?!” Dean squawked.

“He thinks I’m a terrible liar.”

“You weren’t doing anything!”

“I was waiting for everyone else to leave so I could go back to your room with you.”

Colour jumped onto Dean’s cheeks and ears. “Uh –” he gestured with a nod of his head to the door, and Cas followed him from the room.

*

Christmas morning, and Cas woke up from the deliberate sort of semi-doze he’d allowed himself to drift off into overnight.

It wasn’t the same surreal feeling as waking after dreaming and falling into the deep sleep that he’d only experienced at his most human times, more something he could willingly do by letting his vessel slip into a sort of hibernation. But as soon as Dean woke up and stirred in Cas’s arms, Cas pulled himself back to proper wakefulness and he got to open his eyes at the same time as Dean, which was all that mattered when Dean smiled sleepily up at him.

They were tangled together, Dean wrapped around Cas with his head resting on Cas’s shoulder. Cas had been divested of his coat immediately – as soon as Dean had closed the door he’d looked Cas up and down and demanded that it come off, and Cas had given up the high ground of ignoring Dean’s comments about his clothes – Dean had swapped out the lumberjack look for him, after all…

Dean had personally ensured the trenchcoat fell from Cas’s shoulders and onto the floor, and from there they’d kissed, and kissed, and fallen onto the bed, trying to shake off more items of clothing without letting the other go, and…

Dean grinned sleepily at Cas. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“Of course I am. We have to celebrate Christmas. And you promised we’d watch Star Wars tomorrow.”

“Mmhm.” Dean nuzzled into Cas’s neck with a sigh. “I’m sorry I fell asleep as soon as we were in bed.”

“It _is_ really comfortable.”

Dean ran a hand across Cas’s chest, exploring slowly, enjoying the decadent amount of free time they had. Then his hand stopped and he gave Cas a more curious poke.

“You’re still wearing that sweater. In bed. Do you know how wrong that is?”

“I’m assuming from your tone, really wrong.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, now sliding his hand under Cas’s sweater and attempting to pull it up sleepily and clumsily. “You should probably take it off immediately.”

“And you’re still wearing jeans in bed. Shouldn’t you…”

Dean pulled away from an open-mouthed kiss to Cas’s neck. “You really are getting better at this whole people skills thing.”

“Is that good?”

“I just woke up in some bizarre universe where it’s Christmas, I have just about everything I want, and you’re sassing me while I’m trying to get something going here… And you’re wearing a completely un-sexy Christmas sweater, which makes it all –”

“So are you.”

Dean rolled off Cas slightly and looked down at himself, maybe only just properly awake for the first time in the exchange. His face fell to see the reindeer. “We wear too many fucking layers.”

“You were probably just tired because you’ve had no time to rest for weeks –”

“No, no, this is the story I’m telling our grandchildren. I spent so long undressing you I passed out from exhaustion before I even got past the sweater.”

“ _Why_ would you tell our fictional grandchildren how on our first night together you shoved me down on your bed, climbed on top of me and _immediately fell asleep half-dressed_?”

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Christmas so I mean this in the most peace-on-earth-whatever way, but shut the hell up.” Dean yanked Cas’s sweater up until it was trapped around his head and left Cas to struggle to pull it over his face and arms, sliding down under the covers to investigate how much else of Cas he’d managed to undress the night before.

They made a very pleasurable start to Christmas morning.

*

Cas stared down at the preoccupied reindeer on the sweater he’d worn to the kitchen while Dean made breakfast. Dean was wearing his robe, Cas’s boxers (“they’re angelically clean – shut up”) and not much else. Cas had, as well as Dean’s Christmas sweater, a pair of Dean’s jeans and so far Dean had made him fetch five different things from low shelves and then just put them on the side and continued frying bacon. Cas sipped coffee and humoured him.

But –

“Dean…”

“What?” he half-snapped, without looking up. Cas knew that he probably could have sounded less accusatory, but it was too late now.

“What do you know about deer?”

“I saw Bambi,” Dean said, even more defensively.

“Do you know these reindeer –” Cas plucked the sweater fabric again, “– are paired off and if they’re depictions of reindeer, unlike almost every other type of deer, both male and female grow similar antlers. It’s quite possible to interpret this as both a design of heterosexually paired deer or…”

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Leave my gay fucking reindeer sweater alone or I’m taking it back from you.”

Cas took another sip of coffee.

Dean turned all the pieces bacon in the pan one by one and regarded it critically for a moment, then, clearly judging it safe enough to leave for a moment, wandered over and slid his arms around Cas, teasing him for many quick, coffee-flavoured kisses.

Between the sizzling of the bacon and the huge distraction of Dean slipping his hands into Cas’s back pockets, Cas didn’t hear until it was too late: Sam coming down the hall, announcing his presence before he walked into the room with a shout of “What the hell are you cooking _bacon_ for? You brought home half a pig for Christmas dinner!”


End file.
